


Happy Birthday John

by Darcylovette, Fauxginger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darcylovette/pseuds/Darcylovette, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fauxginger/pseuds/Fauxginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For John's 18th birthday his parents buy him a very special present: Sherlock Holmes.<br/>Neither are particularly thrilled about this, but perhaps a mutual hatred for their situation will spark something?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Birthday Boy

"Happy birthday, John!"

John Watson, now 18, gave a forced smile as he took his seat at the breakfast table, which as usual was covered in a luxurious feast of fruit, kippers, pastries and meats. His mother smiled down at him as a beta servant loaded his plate with a selection.

"We've gotten you something very expensive this year." She said, as if they didn't do it every year. John nodded, taking a bite of bacon.

"Thank you, mother, but you needn't spend much." She waved this off, having her coffee refilled.

"Hush now, John, don't be rude. Your father and I have been talking and, what with your training, you wouldn't have time to find an Omega of your own. You're eighteen and don't have a single one! So, we're saving you the hassle!" John glared.

"Mother! I don't want an Omega! I certainly don't need you to buy me one! It's inhumane!" It was her turn to glare.

"John, don't be ungrateful. Your father is at the auction right now. There's a boy arriving today, around your age. Enjoy him!" John pushed his plate away and stood.

"I'm not hungry." He announced, leaving the room and storming off to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. How could his mother, an Omega herself, not be opposed in the slightest to the Omega trade? Auctioning off unbounded, orphaned Omegas to rich-but-too-busy Alphas. He knew his parents wouldn't leave him alone until he got one, and if he didn't, they'd have to buy one. He fell back onto his bed and glowered at the ceiling, filled with rage at the idea that a helpless boy was going to be forced into a room with him during his heat. John was strong willed, but even he couldn't resist that. His parents were impossible; they wanted grandchildren and they'd get them. No matter what the cost.

* * *

Sherlock frowned as he was guided up onto the stage. Omega auctioning was technically legal but morally he was opposed to it, being one and all. His parents had found one another through true, normal circumstance and convenience. Those same norms also took them away from him, which was how he ended up here. He wasn't sad about it; it just meant something else for him to adjust to. His brother Mycroft, also an Omega, had swiftly abandoned him for the first person to show an interest. A policeman called Greg. Sherlock didn't get along with Officer Greg, and soon found he was alone. Alone was fine for him. Until the auctioneers that was. An older blonde gentleman won him, for a very good price. Apparently frowning doesn't sell as well. He got into the blonde man's car and stared out the window until they arrived at his home.

John gave a disgruntled sign as the car pulled into the driveway, falling back onto the bed. Great, now what? Were they going to be locked in his room until the boy was ripe with his pups? The whole affair was sickening.

Sherlock looked at the house. It was a big house; clearly the man was well off. Was he here for him or someone else? The door opened and a woman held her arms open. She was most definitely an Omega, making the man her Alpha...who was he here for then?

"Hello! I'm Mrs Watson, what is your name, how old are you?" The woman asked, guiding him into the house and looking him up and down. Like meat.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, I recently turned 19." He replied, inspecting the home rather than look at her look at him.

John shook his head at the way his mother put on airs for guests. He knew how she saw him, an object, a belonging. He sat up and faced the door, wearing a scowl. He was determined to be stubborn, for all the good it would do.

"This is John's room, he's inside. Have fun." Mrs Watson forcefully shoved Sherlock into the room. The boy glaring at him, the previously mentioned John, certainly did not look too happy with this arrangement. He was short, which was uncommon for an Alpha. He had blonde hair, brown eyes, and a small nose which all together made him look around 16. However he assumed he was 18 from the cake he'd seen sitting in the kitchen as he'd passed.

 

"Hello. I'm Sherlock." He said, deciding to take little notice of him and inspect his room for some signs into John's personality or preferences. Nothing was immediately clear.

"Yeah... hi..." John's expression softened, "God, I'm sorry. I had no say in this. I didn't even know... I think it's awful." John couldn't help but pity the boy in front of him. He was far too skinny to have been eating properly, even though his height suggested a naturally thin frame. His dark hair made him look even paler and his bright blue eyes were an incredible contrast. The way he looked around his room showed how uncomfortable he was and made John suddenly aware of how pampered his life looked.

"Oh it's fine." Sherlock said, relaxing and looking John in the eye. "Well no it's not fine, frankly it's demoralizing and objectifying, but it's better than dying in a gutter somewhere."

John sighed, "I'll try and get us out of this. I don't want to be a father, I don't want to bond. But my parents are insisting."

"Well you are of that age. By Omega standards I'm practically an old maid." He smiled. "I suppose there are worse fates though."

John ran a hand through his hair, standing up. Great, the windows were barred. "... Goddamn it." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Is something wrong?"

John sighed, "I don't want to mate with you. No offense but... well, I'm sure you don't either."

"It's not exactly on the top of my to-do list." Sherlock said, looking at the bars on the windows. "But apparently I am your birthday present, so I cannot exactly leave."

John moved over to bang on the door, "Mother! I am not going to mate with him! This is rape, mother!" Sherlock stood to the side, allowing John to protest.

"It wouldn't be rape..." he muttered, mostly to himself.

"How is this not rape?" John turned to him.

"Rape is when one party is not willing. If both parties are unwilling...it's nothing." Sherlock pointed out. "The most they can do is keep us in here, which is perfectly legal as you are their child and I am technically property."

"It's exploitation!" John hammered on the door, "Mother! Open this door!" Sherlock looked around the room, allowing him to rage.

"Do you have any books?" John glanced at him.

"... Books. You want to read?"

"Traders don't exactly have a vast Library, I've missed reading." He replied plainly. John blinked and pointed to a table next to his bed.

"Um... a few on my nightstand..." Sherlock walked over to the nightstand and looked at the books. He took a bright blue one off the top and lay down on the bed to read.

"You may resume pleading for freedom, if you wish." John stared at him.

"How can you be so calm?"

"I have been dealt a fairly rough hand in life, I compensate by simply not caring about it." Sherlock replied.

"They want us to mate!" John yelled, "Mate! Make pups! Bond, even!"

Sherlock lowered the book.

"Honestly I don't see how that would be bad. Your family clearly has good resources, and a mixture of our genes would probably produce good looking 'pups'..." Sherlock returned to the book. "You know, from a logical standpoint."

"... How old are you? We're too young to have children!"

"19."

"Way too young. This isn't right."

"My parents had my older brother when they were our age, how old were your parents?" Sherlock asked, still reading the book. "You have excellent taste, by the way."

"... Maybe a few years older..." John swallowed and sat down, "I always thought I'd find my own when I was ready... after I'd become a doctor."

"Admirable career." Sherlock commented.

"But what about you? Don't you have dreams? Ambitions?"

"I wanted to be a pirate." Sherlock mused. "Beyond that...nothing really interests me. Perhaps a trophy-partner isn't a bad ending." Again, John stared at him.

"... That's awful. You can't think like that!" Sherlock pulled a slightly battered slip of paper from his pocket and slotted it into the book before placing it back on the nightstand.

"I have no education to speak of, I do not do well in typical social situations and I'm too skinny for manual labour. What would you suggest I fall back on?"

"This is wrong. You can't just accept this!" John stood sharply, marching to the other side of the room and shaking his head.

"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't." Sherlock folded his arms.

"... I'm not going to mate with you. There's only one solution."

"You'll send me back, I'll get auctioned off to a different Alpha who I will have no interest in, and then it will actually be rape."

"No, I won't let them." John blinked, "Wait..."

"Something occurring to you?" Sherlock said

"... You... want to mate with me?"

"Well not right now, but yes. You are the most interesting person I have met." John almost laughed.

"W-wait... you... seriously?"

"I thought I was being perfectly clear." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Good thing our children can inherit my intelligence as well."

"... Wow..." John ran his fingers through his hair, tugging, "This is madness... no, no, I can't be a dad. We can't give my parents the satisfaction."

"Well I'm not in heat yet, they have to wait regardless. What time do your family typically eat their evening meal?" Sherlock asked, his stomach quietly rumbling.

"Um... about... an hour, perhaps." Sherlock groaned and threw his head back. He pulled the book back off the nightstand.

"This Waters boy...I imagine he looks similar to you."

"Who? What?"

"Waters...Augustus...The book." Sherlock waved the light blue book.

"O-oh. Oh, right. Um, probably not. he's, you know... good looking."

"Exceedingly."

"... I wish this was under different circumstances." John took a few steps towards Sherlock.

"As do most people. My father met my mother by vomiting on her."

"Uh... excuse me?"

"When my mother and father first met, it was him vomiting on her at a party. She cleaned him up and soon after they began dating." Sherlock elaborated. "I quite like this Issac character." John smiled a little.

"How... romantic." He nodded, "Yes... I enjoy his sarcasm."

"What other things do you enjoy?" Sherlock asked. John thought for a moment.

"Um... rugby... reading... that's about it, really."

"What do you like about Rugby?" Sherlock still hadn't looked up from the book, he was quite a way through already.

"I don't. Honestly, I'm good at it and my parents make me, so I play it."

"It's a very male sport. Tackling one another, getting covered in dirt as you slam into the..." Sherlock stopped, quite unsubtly crossing his legs. "This Peter Van-something isn't nice." he said, changing the subject.

"um..." John nodded, "Yeah, he's kind of a douchebag."

"I imagine your family will be serving food soon. Is there a bathroom nearby I can use to wash my hands?" Sherlock slipped his bit of paper in the book again.

"I don't think they'll be letting us out until we've mated. Our food will be delivered here. But I have an en suite..."

Sherlock looked for the door which was most likely the bathroom. He moved swiftly towards it, barely touching the floor. John pulled himself up onto the bed, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging them. He sighed deeply, what a great birthday this was going to be.


	2. Escape attempt

Sherlock left the bathroom a few minutes later, significantly more relaxed. He looked at John and stood there, unsure what was going to happen with this boy he was trapped in a bedroom with.

"I... don't want to mate with you because my parents request it. It won't be right, to either of us."

"Okay." Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, a respectable distance from John.

"Maybe... I could... try and break us out of here." John swallowed.

"Sounds...interesting." Sherlock smiled.

"I have a savings account. Enough to buy a place. You could... live with me... If you wanted." Sherlock's smile widened.

"That...sounds very nice." John smiled.

"Great! But... first things first. We need to get out."

"Do you know how to pick a lock?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head.

"No... Sorry."

"Well it's a good thing I do." Sherlock laughed. "Do you have any pins?"

John nodded, reaching into his bedside table, "Harriett is always losing hers. I always have some spare ones for her."

Sherlock took a few of the pins and went over to the bedroom door. He first checked through the keyhole to make sure no-one was outside. There wasn't. He began picking the lock.

"You might want to start packing." he suggested.

John stared at him in bewilderment, "Wow... oh, yes!" He hopped up, "Wow... this is happening..."

Sherlock smiled to himself as he picked the lock. There was a small click and he tried the handle. The door opened. He stood up and held his hand out to John.

John clutched the bag and took it, staring at him, "... I'm a little scared..."

"Aren't you supposed to be the Alpha here?" Sherlock teased. He ran, pulling John behind him.

John barely had time to rolls his eyes before he was pulled out, almost struggling to keep up.

The two ran through the house staying as quiet as they could. They slowed down outside dining room where John's parents were talking and sped up again before reaching the front door.

"Are you absolutely sure?" John asked. Sherlock laughed as he knelt down to pick another lock.

"One hundred percent." John looked at Sherlock as he picked the lock, knelt down and staring intently. He was only on one knee showing the curve of his back even through his jacket. His hips moved slowly from side to side, probably to stop him cramping as they ran out the door. It was strangely hypnotic. Suddenly John was being pushed backward. Sherlock was pushing him.

"What?" John said as Sherlock shoved him into the nearest cupboard. It was a small tight space filled with coats reeking of designer perfumes and cologne.

"Shit, shit, shit" Sherlock muttered.

"What?" John asked again, getting annoyed.

"Your parents appear to have invited my brother and his…partner for the meal. Which means they are expecting us to eat with them."

"So we wait for them to walk past and leave." John said. Sherlock didn't reply, listening intently at the door. He tried to ignore how close he and John were in the cupboard. There was at most an inch between them, and at certain points they were touching. It was incredibly distracting.

"John, I am more than willing to run away with you, but can we wait one night?" Sherlock proposed, still staring intently at the door.

"Why? Don't you want to get away now?" John asked.

"I haven't seen my brother in a long time; I should see him before I vanish possibly for good." John paused, making the distance between them even more uncomfortable. Eventually he spoke.

"Okay. Let's head back to my room before they notice we're gone." He slowly opened the door and the two crept out.

* * *

"Thank you." Sherlock said as he shut John's bedroom door behind him. John sat on his bed, fist clenched. "Is something wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I just…I was looking forward to leaving this damned place." John muttered.

"Would you like a hug?" Sherlock asked, holding out his arms. John nodded, stood and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. He let his head rest against Sherlock's chest. His clothes were doing a good job of hiding the fact that he clearly hadn't been eating properly. Him being as skinny as he was meant the hug wasn't very comfortable, but it was comforting.

A few moments had passed when Sherlock made an odd choking sound.

"Are you okay?" John looked up at Sherlock.

"Fine." Sherlock said, letting go of John with one arm to wipe tears from his face.

"You're crying?"

"It appears so."

"Why?"

"Probably because it's been so long since I was comfortable in someone else's arms." Sherlock replied, still dabbing at his eyes.

John didn't reply, and simply held Sherlock closer. Sherlock buried his face in John's hair and began to sob.

After what seemed like hours, but was in reality a few minutes, there was a faint knock at the door. It was John's mother.

"John, it's time for dinner! Get dressed and come down, we have guests!"

Sherlock pulled out of the hug, wiped his eyes and made sure his clothes were tidy. "She's assuming we've had sex already." He stated.

"I'll have to correct her. Come on, your brother is waiting.”

The dining room in the Watson house was quite grand. John sat down first. John's mother was sat next to John, and John's father sat opposite her. Sherlock's brother and his partner sat opposite John.

Sherlock sat down, looking at his brother across the table.

"Mycroft."

"Sherlock."

"You've lost weight."

"You are quite literally owned. Like cattle."

"And you've eaten enough to know."

There was a pause as John's parents weren't quite sure how to respond. Suddenly the two brothers smiled at each other.

"It is good to see you Sherlock."

"Likewise."

John smirked, earning a glare from his mother. He shrugged as his plate was loaded with food, but he only picked at it. He'd lost his appetite. Sherlock began eating modestly, secretly wishing to wolf down the whole plate.

"So Sherlock, what with you being bought and all, when do you plan on mating with this boy?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock noticeably twitched, but continued eating.

 

"Brother I am not going to discuss that, nor do I want to hear about your child with that baboon next to you. You abandoned me, your own flesh and blood, the instant he showed up." He gestured to Mycroft's partner with his fork, "While I may lack the capacity for social graces I certainly understand you are not supposed to do that. Now let me enjoy this very nice meal someone has prepared for me."

Mycroft went completely silent. Sherlock let his arm fall to his side while he ate, allowing it to subtly brush John's leg. John felt his eyes widening slightly, but otherwise didn't react. He tried to move it away in a not-now-my-parents-are-watching kind of way.

"Whether Sherlock wishes to mate or not is up to him. I shan't force him."

Sherlock moved his hand to his own lap and allowed himself a short smile while he ate. John Watson was most certainly the most interesting person he'd met. By far.


	3. First Night

John's mother filled the uncomfortable silence, "Ahem, so, John, why don't you and Sherlock go to your room after dinner?"

"Oh, God, mother..." John moaned. Sherlock looked up from his plate and purposely avoided looking at Mycroft.

"It has been a long day, some rest wouldn't be unwelcome. Is there a mattress or camping bed I can use?"

"Actually, you will both be sharing John's bed."

"Mother, we barely know each other. You cannot be serious..." John’s father interrupted.

"Don't talk back to your mother like that. We just want-"

"What's best for me? Whatever..."

"John!" John’s mother gasped.

"With all due respect Mr and Mrs Watson, if we're both uncomfortable sharing a bed it will not speed up the creation of your grandchildren." Sherlock said. John’s parents briefly glanced at each other.

"Well...I guess that is true." She said after a few moments.

"Yes," John's father nodded slowly, "John, you will set up the air-mattress in your room for Sherlock." John knew why his father didn't just ask a servant to do it.

"... yes, sir."

It was then that Greg decided to tell John's parents what he would do to John and Sherlock if he had authority over them. As he ranted, Sherlock carefully whispered to John.

"I'll help with the mattress."

"You don't have to... although I'd really appreciate the help. It’s huge and the pump has never worked."

"I want to help." Sherlock said as Mycroft laughed loudly and placed his arm around his beast of a companion. "Ugh, Sickening." he said, not trying to keep his voice down. His comment was ignored.

"I'm sorry this is uncomfortable for you. I wish you didn't have to go through this."

"It's nice seeing him again, even if it is with this idiot’s child rolling about inside of him. He seems happy." Sherlock said. He had finished eating and was now picking at the remains of the one bit of the meal he did not like.

"If there is anything I can do to make you happy..."

Sherlock looked at John and smiled. He quickly noticed Mrs Watson grinning at him and quickly went back to staring at his almost-empty plate.

John cleared his throat, "Sherlock and I have finished eating. May we leave the table?"

"You may," Said john's father, "As long as it's to set up that mattress."

"Yes, father."

As Sherlock and John left the table and walked back to John's room, he asked a question which had been bothering him for a while.

"Who is Harriet? You mentioned you kept spare pins for her...who is she?"

John looked away, "My sister. We never really got along, but... well, when I came home from school one day my mother informed me that... she was gone. They'd married her off to the son of one of my father's business partners. I really missed her, which made no sense. Then, a few weeks later, my father lost a business deal because my sister had run away; with another omega woman."

"She sounds fun." Sherlock said. He glanced at some of the photos decorating the house. Only one included a girl, which was a family photograph that she apparently couldn't be edited out of. She looked a lot like John. "And pretty." he gestured to the photo.

"Yeah... yeah, she was. I guess. Well, girls aren't my area, but we sure had a lot of offers for her from other alphas."

"Our society is a little archaic don't you think? Purchasing people and love... it’s wrong." They reached John's room. "Where is the mattress kept?"

"Don't say that around my father. All he knows is business... and this is a business to him. One which can make him very rich, indeed." John opened up a large cupboard just outside his bedroom, "In here... somewhere."

"How did your parents end up together?" Sherlock asked, looking for the mattress in the higher shelves of the cupboard.

"The ‘traditional’ way. My grandfather, who owned the family business before my father, made a deal with another man in exchange for his lovely omega daughter as a gift for his son. You'd think my mother would be more... sensitive to this situation, but she never saw anything wrong with it. Still doesn't."

John shrugged, bending down to sort through the rubbish, "Did you know your parents?"

"Yes." Sherlock said, continuously glancing down at John. "Last saw them...6 years ago." He clamped his mouth shut as John accidentally brushed against his leg. _Mattress Sherlock, focus_ he thought.

"Were you close to them?" John asked, completely oblivious to the other's reactions.

"Fairly. Is this it?" He half pulled out what he thought was the mattress.

"Yes, exactly." John smiled and stood up straight, "So, if you don't mind me asking... what happened?"

Sherlock tugged at the mattress as he spoke.

"To be honest it's all a bit foggy. I was asleep. I remember they loved each other and had to run away from a lot of things for that. Someone kept screaming. Next thing I was living in a tiny flat with my brother. Then he left, and the Traders came." He held the mattress out in front of him. "Here, I'll see if I can find the pump. Maybe I can fix it."

John looked down and swallowed, "Oh... oh, Sherlock. That's awful. God, I'm so sorry." he cleared his throat, "I-if you can you'll be a better mechanic than me. And all our servants."

"It's probably something really obvious you've all missed." Sherlock smirked, taking the pump from the cupboard.

"To your room?"

"Sure." He returned the smile, dragging the mattress behind him, "I can ask the servants to bring you pillows and blankets and anything you need to be comfy. Just let me know if you need extra blankets or something during the night."

"Thank you." Sherlock opened the door and held it and John dragged the mattress in. He sat down on the edge of the bed and began inspecting the pump.

John rolled out the mattress, stood and studied it, hands on hips, "Hmm...So, can you see anything?"

"It is a pump." Sherlock said. "I could take it apart and get a better idea, but then you could lose it as a decorative piece."

John smiled, "I can always blow it up with my mouth." he paused as he realized what he'd said, "I... um... I mean..."

Sherlock said nothing, but his face was growing redder by the moment. He worked his hands around the pump and something clicked and it split open.

"Whoa... that was quick."

Sherlock could only stammer as while he worked on the pump his mind was still stuck on the thought of John blowing. Working on the pump certainly helped keep some things under control, but he could feel his face turning deeper shades of red as it went on.

"Are... you okay?"

"FINEABSOLUTELYFINETHEREIFIXEDIT." Sherlock slammed the pump back together and threw it to John. He quickly headed into John's en suite.

John blinked in confusion, "Um... cool." He picked up the pump and tested it, "Holy crap... you fixed it!"

"Great!" Sherlock replied through the door. He ran a hand through his hair and took a few deep breaths. He headed to the sink and splashed his face with water.

"His family owns you Sherlock. They bought you..." he whispered to himself.

 _That was weird..._   John thought, _do all omegas do this? Like... a man period?_ He shrugged and started on pumping up the mattress.

Sherlock took one last deep breath before he left the bathroom.

"Sorry, uh, I needed to wash my face..." It was a weak excuse, but one John apparently believed.

"Oh... that's okay. You can use the en suite whenever you need, by the way. Don't worry about the one in the hall."

Sherlock scratched his neck, "Thank you. How long should this take then?"

"Well, I've never done this with a working pump before... normally about half an hour?"

"We could take turns then, so our arms don't get tired." Sherlock suggested.

"That would be great, thank you. Could you take over in about.... five minutes?"

"Sure..." Sherlock sat in silence, watching John as he pumped up the bed. After a few moments he finally removed his jacket, which was covering a fairly tight shirt.

* * *

Soon enough, John’s muscles were screaming for rest, his skin coated in a thin layer of sweat, "C-can... can you take... over... please?" he panted.

"Uh..." Sherlock swallowed. "Yes." He moved quickly over to the pump, bending over it with his back towards John. His shirt resisted the movement, especially around his shoulders. He suddenly grew concerned about whether or not the fabric was of good quality. His concerns were quickly confirmed as a loud rip was heard and his back suddenly felt a lot cooler. “Oh, shit.”

John found himself transfixed by the exposed skin of the other's surprisingly toned back. He coughed awkwardly, dragging his gaze away, "Don't worry about it. I'll, um, ask the servants to bring you something. We can pick you up something from the city tomorrow."

"Thank you." Sherlock said, removing the remains of the shirt "This shirt was really only for presentation..." he began pumping again. The absence of the shirt made it a lot easier.

 John sat back onto the bed before his legs grew too weak for him to stand. What was happening? Where had this come from? He rubbed the back of his neck; he was sweating again, "We'll get you some proper clothes. Warmer clothes. It's far too cold to be wearing something like that."

“It's July, it's not that cold" Sherlock kept pumping, not turning to look at john “But that would be nice." He added.

"Oh... so it is." He gave a small laugh, "B-but, you know how the British weather is, huh?"

Sherlock smiled. "We're talking about the weather now?" He relaxed slightly, being hunched over was tiring him out very quickly.

"Yep. Engaging in small talk. I can almost hear my mother booking the wedding venues." He grinned, "Although I doubt we're moving fast enough for their liking. I think my mother would have been pregnant by now when it was her and father."

"It's a good think you're not like either of them then." Sherlock said. "Maybe this would go faster if we both pumped?" He asked, finally turning to look at John.

John's head snapped up, "I, er, um..." he flustered, "I-I suppose you're right."

"That wasn't supposed to be sexual." Sherlock said quickly, hiding his satisfaction at seeing John turn red.

"I know!" John cried out, a little defensive, "I just.... yes, let's get started." He smiled awkwardly, pushing himself up from the bed, taking extra care not to let his legs give up on him.

"I can only imagine what your parents would think if they walked in now." Sherlock laughed.

"God, don't remind me." John swung his arms, "So, um, how will we do this?"

"Well, the pump is still stiff, which is why it's not inflating as much...so both of us should get it completely up and down."

 _Oh, god, this is the weirdest birthday ever._ John thought to himself, "Great. Shall I just hold onto this... bit?"

"I suppose." Sherlock grabbed another bit of the pump and looked at John as he began to pump it, hoping John would take his lead.

His muscles had regained themselves, but it wasn't long before John was sweating again. He kept his eyes on the mattress, trying desperately to keep his thoughts from running away with themselves. "I-I think this... is working... much better." he panted, trying to sound as casual as he could.

"Hmh." Sherlock agreed. He was also focusing on the mattress.

John found himself thinking too much about the way the mattress was growing bigger and firmer. "Er, so..." he said, trying to cover up the uncomfortable, thick silence, "how are you finding your stay here?"

"It's quite nice. I look forward to having a bed to myself. Legally the traders had to make sure we had 'something to sleep on', which mean they bought large, cheap mattresses and made us share them. I always ended up on the edge." He paused to breathe properly. "And your food is very nice too. Can't say the same for the hosts."

"Well, it's tradition that once the eldest son is married, the parents will move out of this house and move to our retirement villa. So, they should be gone soon enough." He swallowed, "Um... I didn't mean... oh, I don't know..."

"I find breaking tradition more interesting." Sherlock smiled.

"I know what you mean. But... how can we?"

"Do you mean how as in morally or physically?" Sherlock asked. "because one is much more difficult."

"Just... either. I mean, my sister escaped but... just barely."

"And my parents never did. But maybe..." Sherlock trailed off.

John sighed. It was nice to talk about escaping, or imagining a life which wasn't controlled by his parents, but he knew, deep down, that would always just be a pleasant dream. Their attempt earlier was never going to work, something was bound to go wrong. "Yeah, maybe...""

"I think we're done." Sherlock said, pressing the mattress. "See, no time at all."

"Yeah. Great idea." He smiled, rubbing his sore muscles, "Would you be comfortable there?"

"A pillow and a blanket and it will be perfect."

"I do hope so... you deserve to be at least comfortable after... well..."

Sherlock took the pump out of the mattress and quickly plugged it.

"After what exactly?"

"After all you've gone through."

"It wasn't as bad as some may say." Sherlock moved the mattress so it was parallel to the end of John's bed.

"Still.... nobody should have to go through that."

"Hm." Sherlock frowned.

"So, do you have any... interests or anything? I don't want you to be doing nothing all day, like my mother does..."

"Reading, primarily. I took an interest in psychology and criminology when I was 12. Mycroft suggested I became a police officer, but I felt like that was too dull."

"I'm sure there will be some books on that in our library. It's absolutely huge."

"I'll have plenty of time to read them all."

"Good luck with that. I've lived here all my life and I'm not even a quarter of the way through."

Sherlock didn't reply as a servant entered with a blanket and pillow. They wordlessly handed them to him and left.

"...that was uncomfortable." he commented.

"Get used to it." He smiled, "I'm pretty sure they're all making bets on when you'll get pregnant."

"Yes...that's something I'll find odd."

"I'm sorry about it all. It's just.... it... sucks. It sucks."

"It could have been worse. I initially thought I was being sold to your father."

"Oh, god, that is worse." John couldn't help but laugh. Sherlock laid the pillow and blanket down on the airbed and sat on its edge.

"So...goodnight?"

John nodded, "Yeah, goodnight. Do you want to change or..?"

"Well I normally sleep...nude." Sherlock said, avoiding eye contact.

"Ah... o-okay. That's fine too." John swallowed, "just let me know if you get... cold?"

"Okay." Sherlock took off his trousers before wrapping the blanket around him to remove his boxers. He moved slowly and carefully so that he was lying on the air bed with his back to John.

"I will give you some privacy then." John slipped into the bathroom, cheeks burning and stomach quivering. He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and began to fill the basin with water. He changed into the boxers and shirt a servant had laid out, before splashing cold water onto his face. It cooled his burning cheeks, but only slightly. He dabbed his face dry and brushed his teeth, being extra slow and thorough to give Sherlock plenty of time. He slowly opened the door and hurried over to his bed, "So... yes, goodnight."

"goohmmmh" Sherlock mumbled, already half asleep.

John smiled, climbing under the covers and switching off the lamp. Soon enough, John found he simply couldn't get comfortable. Something was hurting him, making relaxation impossible. He reached beneath the covers to discover the source of the - /ooh/... when the hell did that happen? And when did boxers become so... constraining...

Sherlock muttered quietly.

"not...no...st..."

Oh, wonderful, he talks in his sleep. Somehow that only made John's predicament worse.

Sherlock tensed, curling up into a ball, still muttering.

A few moments passed and he relaxed and the muttering stopped.

John rolled into his sides, lips pressed together. He closed his eyes tightly and begged for the bulge to go down, or just stop hurting too much.

Sherlock awoke the next morning when sunlight hit his face. He sat up suddenly to see a servant opening the blinds of John's room, which he didn't remember being closed. Alarmed he quickly checked the blanket covered enough of him. Thankfully, it did.

"Morning?" he called out the John once the servant had left.

"mmrnm." John muttered into the pillow. He'd barely slept at all that night.

"Sleep well?" Sherlock asked, holding back a laugh at John's arse sticking quite visibly into the air.

"Uh... yeah, sure." John sighed and rolled over, grunting as he did so.

Sherlock frowned, able to tell that John hadn't slept well. He wrapped the blanket around him and moved to sit on the edge of John's bed.

"I would go down with you to breakfast but on weekends I usually sleep until around... well, noon."

"Is it okay if i stay up here? I don't want to face your parents alone." Sherlock half-laughed.

John smiled, "No problem. I wouldn't want to be alone with them if I had the choice..."

"They're not bad, they care about you." Sherlock said, not entirely sure why he was defending the people that had bought him.

"No... if they cared about anyone but themselves they wouldn't have traded my sister for profit."

"...I don't really have a response to that." Sherlock said. "I was trying to make them seem less evil, not sure why..."

"me neither." John shrugged, "I guess you're just a better person than me. Stronger."

"I wouldn't say that." Sherlock mumbled.

"I would."

Sherlock stared at John. He wanted to kiss him. Was that stupid? No, it couldn't be...

John tilted his head, "Something the matter?"

He went for it.

Diving across the bed quickly, the blanket staying firmly on his hips (thank god), he cupped John's face and kissed him.

Something inside John roared with triumph. A strange, unexplainable feeling of joy and peace and electricity shot through him. However, he couldn't stop himself pulling back slightly, "Woah... you... I... we just.... wow..."

Sherlock sat back, a massive grin plastered over his face.

"That's a good reaction."

"Yes... um..." John had quite forgotten how to speak. "Good... yes, very..."

"Would you like to do it again?"

John nodded, "Yes, please."

Sherlock leant in and kissed John again.


	4. Discipline

It was lunch time. Sherlock was doing his best to enjoy the sandwich but being under the gaze of John's parents was unnerving. He could tell John's mother was trying to figure out when he would next be in heat, and that John's father was unsure if the money he spent was worth it. Sherlock glanced at John.

John gave him a small, reassuring smile, nudging his knee against Sherlock's leg.

"So... father... how is business?"

"You don't really care, John. Don't try and impress your new boyfriend."

John looked at his plate and pulled his knee away. Sherlock spoke up.

"What exactly do you do Mr Watson? You never mentioned and John hasn't told me." He smiled at him, though behind the facade he wanted to punch his lights out.

"Unsurprising. John knows as much about business as a goldfish knows about flying." His father chuckled. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes; if he had a penny every time his father made that joke he could buy the business out. "My company purchases and sells lots of unspoiled land. In fact, this weekend I shall be meeting with some native "chief" who refuses to move his little camp elsewhere. He requires some more... intense persuasion."

"Hm." Sherlock simply looked back at his food. Suddenly he didn't want it.

John sighed. And now Sherlock knew what John would be doing the rest of his life, and what he'd no doubt become.

"Yes," his father continued, "this land is rather vital to us. Since my... son's sister decided to abandon the charming family we tried to marry her into, we lost the land in China. I need a lot for an oil refinery within the next month..."

"Because god forbid she be happy." Sherlock said, placing his hands on his lap and sitting back in the chair.

John's hand tightened around his fork, not looking his father in his wide, flaming eyes.

"... Excuse me?" his father hissed.

"Sorry was my suggestion that you care more about money than your daughter’s happiness too vague?" Sherlock said, smiling as Mrs Watson looked like she was going to faint.

"You dare to question me... you, a plaything we bought for our son, dare to question me? You know nothing of the world. You are merely a prostitute who should be very... very grateful to be associated with this family."

"Prostitute..."

Sherlock looked ruined. All emotion and colour had drained from his face and his hands clutched each other tightly in his lap.

"My daughter would have been very happy indeed if she had stuck with our plan. Lance was a charming young man, but she threw it all away to chase some..." he shuddered, "god, the shame of it. John may be... simple, but he's obedient."

John's mouth had gone so dry he could barely swallow. He slid his hand over and placed it over Sherlock's.

Sherlock raised his head suddenly.

"Lance? Lance King?"

"... Perhaps... though I dare say such a prestigious name should not be uttered by your kinds tongue."

Sherlock roared with laughter.

"He visited the hovel I lived in several nights a week! Lance was in love with one of my fellow whores! He let Harriet go because he didn't want her; you're the idiot that sold your daughter to a gay man!"

John's father looked remarkably a savage beast who had just spotted his pray. He spoke softly and calmly, "John... your omega is acting out... what did we teach you to do?"

John stared at him, "No... Father, I.... can't."

"John... do it, or I will..."

Sherlock looked at John.

"John?"

John stared at his plate, shaking slightly, "Father, please..."

"Decide or I will."

"John what is he asking you to do?" Sherlock asked quietly.

His father pressed his fingertips together, "Surely you know that omegas need discipline... regularly?"

"I was not aware anyone required discipline for telling the truth." Sherlock responded, his eyes narrowing.

"Speaking out against your betters requires very severe discipline."

“What makes you my better?"

"Everything."

Sherlock paused. There were 100 things he could do to antagonise Mr Watson further. But they would all hurt John and him further. He decided submission was best.

"I'm sorry." he bowed his head. "Please forgive me."

"Hmm... well, I gave your mother a second chance when we first met... very well."

John breathed a sigh of relief.

Sherlock kept his head down, clutching John's hand.

"You will remain in John's bedroom for the remainder of today. John, you will continue your lessons alone."

Sherlock stood and left the room without looking at anyone.

John's mother, who had been strangely quite throughout this conversation, finally spoke, "John... would you like some more salad?"

"Not hungry..."

"Do as your mother asks, John."

"But... she didn-"

"Do not answer me back!" his father snapped, "You are a selfish, immature, weak little boy. And not a suitable heir for my company... not yet."

* * *

Sherlock sat on John's bed, staring at the calendar he'd taken off the wall. His hand rested on the square two days from now. He flung himself backwards, slamming his back onto the bed and throwing the calendar into the door.

* * *

John stared down at his text book. The words were all there but they were meaningless. He was 50 minutes into the lesson and he so far hadn't taken in a single thing his private tutor, Patrick, had said. Luckily Patrick's teaching techniques were simply to talk ceaselessly while John read everything he said in a text book.

* * *

Sherlock was now draped on the edge of John's bed, his head resting on the floor and his arms laid out in front of him. He wondered how long John's lessons lasted.

* * *

An hour later, John was dismissed. He hurried to his room before anyone could find him and slipped inside. He turned to Sherlock, "... hey..."

Sherlock looked up at John from the floor. He'd slipped about 45 minutes ago and was now trapped in an awkward position at the end of the bed. His head was flat on the ground, his arms pinned behind it and his legs stuck up awkwardly in the air.

"Hello." Sherlock said seriously, like he wasn't in some ridiculous yoga pose.

"Um... are you trying to seduce me or..?"

"...if it's working, yes. If not...no I just feel stupid and light-headed."

John smiled and shook his head, "here... let me help you." he moved over and pulled Sherlock up by his shoulders, "there. Better?"

Sherlock sat on the floor, moving his shoulders and arms in an attempt to get the feeling back in them.

"Thank you. How were your lessons?"

"I honestly can't remember what it was even about." John shrugged, sitting down next to him, "Listen... about what my dad said..."

Sherlock waved his hand.

"No. Don't talk about that."

"I'll never do it. And I won't let him do it either. I swear I will not become like him..."

"I know you won't."

"... I'm sorry you're stuck with us."

"I like being stuck with you." Sherlock smiled.

John smiled and looked away, "Thanks. But, being stuck with my parents... believe me; I know what that's like... you don't have to pretend.

"Oh yes that's hell." Sherlock said bluntly.

"Yep. It gets easier, thought." he swallowed, "... okay, it hasn't yet, but I'm still hoping..."

Sherlock stood, taking one of John's hands.

"Hope is the dream of a waking man, Aristotle."

".... What?"

"It's a quote John." Sherlock chuckled.

"Whoa... what from?"

"Aristotle. He was a philosopher and p-oh for fucks sake will you just kiss me already?"

"Oh, well if you insist." John grinned, jumping up and planting a kiss on Sherlock's lips, "Happy?"

"Quite." Sherlock grinned.

"Good." John smiled, "I, um... haven't kissed anyone before..."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Oh...I mean...there's nothing wrong with that, I’ve only kissed one other person."

"Oh, who?" john asked, genuinely curious.

"His name was Richard; he was a much younger omega where I stayed. It was the night before an auction and he'd heard he already had interested parties. He sobbed all night terrified about it, and told me he was scared of losing all of his firsts to them. So I kissed him, so they couldn't have that first." Sherlock replied.

John blinked, "... Wow... that was a really great thing you did."

"You sound surprised." Sherlock said, wrapping his arms around John. "I'm nice."

"I know. I'd just.... given up hope in humanity a while ago..." he rested his hands on Sherlock's chest, "nice to be proven wrong."

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Sherlock asked. "Not sex," he quickly corrected "just the two of us in the same bed?"

John chewed on his bottom lip, and then nodded, "I'd really like that."

Sherlock kissed John's forehead before looking at the discarded calendar.

"So would I."


	5. Rose Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me while writing the end section of this chapter we'd never addressed how Beta/Omega/Alpha dynamics work in this fic (As they're pretty much different depending on who you talk to). And seeing as we can't find a way to mention it, we'd just have to sling it in at the start of a chapter.  
> So here you go:  
> Betas: Regular humans. Can breed with Alphas of opposite sex. Extremely common.  
> Alphas: Respond to omegas in heat and can breed with anyone. Less common than Beta's but still fairly typical.  
> Omegas: Go into heat, males can get pregnant. Cannot breed with Betas. Rare and therefore sold/traded.

Sherlock woke feeling better than he had in years. He turned to face John, who was still sleeping. He looked so relaxed Sherlock couldn’t help but smile. He moved forward and gently planted a kiss on John’s cheek.

John made a soft sound as he began to wake, rubbing at his eyes, "Wha..." he blinked as his gaze focused on Sherlock, and smiled, "Oh... hey, you."

"Good morning."

"Sleep okay? I've been told I talk in my sleep..."

“Yeah, fine. I'm very difficult to wake. Do you have lessons today?" Sherlock asked, sitting up slowly.

"No, not on Saturdays."John rolled onto his back, yawning, "I could stay here all day."

Sherlock laughed before lying down, his head level with John's chest.

"We should do something."

John wet his lips, "Oh?"

"Nothing like that." Sherlock said, elbowing John in the leg.

John laughed, "Sorry. What did you have in mind?"

"How big is your garden?" he asked.

"Um, pretty big. Larger than your average garden, I guess." John shrugged, "Do you want to see it?"

"Yeah, it might be nice to wander around. I've only seen 3 of the rooms." Sherlock said, sitting up again and stretching.

"Well, we'd better get some breakfast first. If we get lost in there I'd rather we didn't starve to death."

"And maybe get dressed?" Sherlock pointed to a large pile of clothes that sat on top of John's dresser. "Your servants are extremely quiet."

 "Oh, yeah. Well, they have little respect for privacy..." John pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed.

 "I wouldn't be surprised if we spontaneously decided to have sex and found some condoms suddenly on your table" Sherlock laughed.

 John smiled, "Yep. Be careful what you wish for."

 Sherlock turned red. "I uh...I....uh...."

 "I'm kidding!" John patted his hand, "Sorry, I'm not the best at jokes." John stood, moving over and grabbing the clothes.

 Sherlock laughed nervously for a moment.

"I think those are for me, actually. Seeing as I don't have any."

 "Yeah," John tossed over the clothes, "Didn't want you getting cold."

 "Thanks." Sherlock quickly pulled on the shirt. It was much like the one he had been wearing when he arrived, but higher quality. He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. "Does your family have a dress code or something?"

 "Flashy and overpriced." John shrugged, opening up his drawers, "If you ever see my mother without a pearl necklace, assume it's an imposter."

 "Good to know." Sherlock said, looking down before taking off the shirt again. "May I use your shower?"

 "Of course." John pulled on a white polo.

 "I suppose it would be silly if I couldn't" Sherlock said, climbing off the bed and heading into the bathroom. "Oh look, there's an extra towel for me."

 John smiled, shaking his head, "They may be intruding, but convenient."

 Sherlock smiled at John before closing the bathroom door. He turned on the shower and stared at himself in the mirror while it warmed up.

 John moved over to sit on the bed, holding a pair of trousers on his lap. He rubbed his eyes, resisting the urge to go back to sleep. He'd never been up this early on a Saturday before...

 After a few moments Sherlock stepped into the shower and let the warm water cascade down him. He felt his hair flatten against his head and he ran his hands through it. How long had it been since his last shower alone? He decided he was going to milk it.

 After awkwardly leaning back and wiggling into the trousers, John stretched on the bed, taking a sip from the glass of water beside the bed. He swirled it around the glass, trying to ignore the thoughts swimming through his head, possibilities of what could go down in the garden...

 Sherlock opened one eye long enough to grab a bar of soap from a little dish on the shelf. As he began to clean he couldn't help but hum to himself.

 The delicious smell of breakfast cooking wafted into the room. John groaned a little, "Sherlock?" He called, "I don't know about you but I am starving!"

 Sherlock groaned and stepped out of the shower. He'd wash his hair tomorrow then. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out into the bedroom.

"That is the nicest shower I have ever been in. I hope you appreciate me leaving it so soon." He said before grabbing one of the new pairs of underwear the servants had brought and marching back into the bathroom.

 "I'll make it up to you." He grinned, "Promise."

 Sherlock quickly dried his body with the towel and pulled on the underwear, which was a little too tight for his tastes. He walked back into the bedroom drying his hair.

 John was mid sip when Sherlock entered the room. He choked a little, quickly averting his gaze, "Sh-Sherlock..." he stammered, "Uh... are those new?"

 Sherlock looked down. "They were in the pile the servants brought in. They're a bit tight aren't they?"

 "Uhhh..." John stared at a crack in the wall, "Kinda... my parents most likely... you know."

 Sherlock smiled as he pulled on a pair of trousers.

"You're cute when you're flustered." he said as he put the shirt he'd chosen back on.

 John spluttered, "Pfft, I... oh, shut up."

 "Shall we head down? I'm fairly sure I smell pancakes."

 "Yup." John awkwardly stood, "Yeah, I love pancakes."

 Sherlock headed to the door and was just about to open it when it swung open, just missing his face. Mrs Watson beamed in.

"Hi boys"

 John rolled his eyes, "Mother... good morning."

 "Hello Mrs Watson." Sherlock said. She looked him up and down.

"Oh fantastic! You found the new clothes; I picked them out special for you. Come on now, breakfast is getting cold!"

 John shot Sherlock a 'told you so' look. "We were just on our way, mother."

 John's mother shot John a look before striding off down the hallway.

"What was that?" Sherlock asked as he stepped out into the hall, holding the door for John to follow.

 "My eternal nightmare." He took Sherlock's hand, "Ignore her."

 "I intend to." Sherlock quickly kissed John on the cheek.

 John smiled, "Good."

 After a fairly tense breakfast with John's father glaring at them over his newspaper, even more so after Sherlock said he wasn't aware people still read them, Sherlock and John walked out into the garden. It was a strangely pleasant day for England, absolutely no sign of rain in the clouds.

 John reached over to take Sherlock's hand, "Sorry about my parents. Are you okay?" he asked, guiding him through the rose bushes.

 "I'm fine. The whore comments are losing their sting." Sherlock said. "Roses? Someone's a romantic."

 John grinned, "You caught me. Maybe I'll surprise you, cover the bed in them for when..." he trailed off, coughing awkwardly.

 Sherlock quickly looked up. "Oh look that cloud looks like...anything...nonsexual."

 "Yes. A fluffy bunny."

 "Or a duck."

 "Both. They're playing tennis."

 "Tennis? Really?"

 "Why not? Maybe they're training for the Olympics..."

 "You have a strange mind." Sherlock said, planting a quick kiss on John’s temple. They reached the centre of the garden, where there was a cushioned bench under a canopy. Sherlock strode ahead and ran a hand over the seat. “It’s dry. Maybe we could sit here for a bit?”

“And do what?” John asked, walking forward.

“Whatever comes to mind I guess?” Sherlock sat down on the bench, resting one leg along it. John sat down at the end of the bench, frowning. Sherlock moved his foot and gestured for him to move closer, but John shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Does this feel fast to you?” John said. “I mean, we only met each a few days ago. After my parents bought you.”

“It does feel a little quick, yes. Does it bother you?”

“I don’t know.” John squirmed in his seat. Sherlock moved closer to him and held out his hand.

“William Sherlock Holmes.”

“John Hamish Watson.” John took Sherlock’s hand and shook it. “So why not William?”

“It’s too common. Have you ever met another Sherlock?” Sherlock and John’s hands dropped to rest on the bench.

“No. Have you ever met another John?”

“6.” Sherlock replied. “But none of them were like you.”

“What do you mean, like me?”

“I don’t tend to like people.”

“They don’t tend to like you either.”

“Yes, well, I don’t like them first. So when I do come across someone I like, someone who interests me…it’s rare.”

“Are you telling me I’m not your first?”

“You’re the first who’s been interested back.” John reached out and placed his hand over Sherlock’s.

“It only bothers me because I don’t feel like I’m ready for you.”  John sighed. “You have this…feeling that you know so much more than me and here I am with you as my first kiss and…it’s a little stressful.”

“I’ve only ever kissed someone I didn’t even care for. I feel nervous when I even think about kissing you.” Sherlock replied, staring at the ground. “Maybe that’s best, that we’re both nervous.” He looked at John and smiled. “Knowing things in theory only helps a little in practise John. I’m sure there are plenty of things you’ll know that I won’t.”

“Like what?” John scoffed.

“Medicine. How to make people smile." John looked up at Sherlock and paused for a brief moment before kissing him. Sherlock fell backwards but John continued kissing him. His hands moved down Sherlock’s body until they reached his trousers. He began to slip his hand down them, which prompted a very sudden reaction from Sherlock. Within seconds John found himself on his back with Sherlock straddling him, kissing him forcefully with one hand by John’s waist for support and the other…well. John was eager to return the favour but Sherlock would stop and glare if he even tried. John wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He ran one through Sherlock’s hair but the other lifelessly hung down by his side. He decided Sherlock’s waist would be good, but he couldn’t reach it and settled for his upper-back. Sherlock was encouraged by John’s moans and mumbled nonsense. John felt so close, only a little bit more and…

Sherlock stopped.

“Rugby.” He said.

“What?” John replied, annoyed and confused.

“You’re also good at Rugby.” Sherlock smiled, sitting back on his and John’s legs.

“I…really hate you right now.” John muttered, pulling his legs out from under Sherlock. Sherlock laughed and led down on his side next to John. It was tight but they both just about fit on the bench.

The two spent the rest of the day talking about them, sharing stories and secrets. At lunch time John went inside to grab some food and came back out with some books from the library as well. They spent the next 6 hours reading to each other before John’s mother came out to fetch them. After an extremely quiet dinner with John’s father mysteriously absent, John and Sherlock retired to John’s room where they continued their reading until they fell asleep.


End file.
